


Mind over Menace

by Firegirl210



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegirl210/pseuds/Firegirl210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unknown terror is sweeping the galaxy, leaving planets smoking husks of their former selves, and First Officer Spock is having nightmares. In a race against time, the Enterprise is locked in a battle for the fate of the Federation, and her first officer finds himself right at the heart of the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind over Menace

**Author's Note:**

> Post into Darkness. These are not my original characters, the ones familiar to you obviously belong to my main man Gene.

Vulcans do not dream.  
At least, the act is not encouraged and very few would admit to doing so. Dreaming would indicate a loss of control in the suppressed imaginative facilities of the brain. Even in sleep, such a slip would be viewed as less than exemplary.  
But after the brutal destruction of their homeworld, the phenomenon became something of a wide-spread menace. They woke in droves from their slumber, visions of the tragedy of their race spinning behind veiled eyes.  
A certain half-Vulcan was no exception to this. He dreamed that night, as he had many other nights; his subconscious painted his sleep in hues of death. The red of Vulcan soil, the dusky orange of a Vulcan sky, and the green of Vulcan blood. He watched, helpless, as his planet was torn apart from the inside. His mother slipped from his grasp, Nero’s face grinned before his eyes, and he jerked awake with a thundering heart and lungs tight with near panic.  
It took a moment for him to realize where he was, and to calm. He was in his quarters aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, taking a much needed rest, and had drifted off to a troubled sleep, interrupted as it was by unpleasant dreams.  
Spock rose from the tangled sheets, entering his private washroom and splashing cool water on his hot Vulcan skin. It helped, and he raised dark eyes to survey his reflection in the mirror.  
Those dark eyes held ghosts within them, and as they gazed back now with no barriers to speak of they contained pain, sorrow, anger and confusion as well. Spock did not like what he saw and quickly snapped himself out of his momentary lapse, eyebrows slightly drawn together in self-condemnation.  
He made his way back to the warm atmosphere of his quarters and knelt in front of the small porthole which displayed a view of the flashing stars as they streaked by faster than light. He placed his thumb, index and middle fingers together, meshing the others and folding himself onto the floor comfortably.  
It is the Vulcan way to meditate during times of stress, and as Spock closed his eyes he felt the acute self-awareness particular to his species well up around him. He could pinpoint every tense nerve and coax it to relax, each stiff muscle to unwind--but the rearrangement of feeling came as a challenge. Not only were his unstable emotions enhanced by his red human blood, but the steadying beacon of Vulcan had years since vanished into the void, sending his mind into a unpleasant panic.  
He drew a deep breath of hot, dry air into the bottom of his lungs. Do not allow sentiment control over your being, he chided, pulling oxygen in and out of his body. Peace, quiet, control...  
As if to spite his condition, a visitor rang the bell, requesting access to his quarters, and he sighed.  
“Enter,” he decided, and the doors whooshed open to reveal a feminine figure. Lieutenant Nyota Uhura stepped into the oven of Spock’s room, offering a hesitant smile of thanks. Relations between them had been somewhat...forced since the incident with Khan, or perhaps even before. Uhura felt upset that he had never—and likely would never—harbor sentiments for her with the vehemence which she desired, and Spock was growing weary of the emotional grappling between them.  
“Are you alright?” Nyota asked, noting his meditative position on the floor of his quarters and the tenseness in the air. He gave a quick nod in reply, indicating for her to sit in one of the chairs. She declined, folding her arms and cocking one hip in a stance indicative of oncoming conflict.  
“Don’t do this, Spock. Something’s wrong, and you denying it won’t make the problem go away. Let me in, let me try to help,” she pleaded, and he closed his eyes to block both his emotions and the sight of the woman who had knelt in front of him imploringly. He was dismissing her, and she knew it. Although his eyes remained closed, he sensed her growing agitation in the surrounding air.  
“Spock--”  
“Nyota,” he cut her off more abruptly than was generally considered polite, and weary dark eyes opened to meet hers. He wasn’t angry—more overwhelmed by an immense sadness. “Please do not pursue this train of thought further. It is detrimental both to my mental state and your emotional wellbeing,” he explained gently, a patient teacher lecturing a recalcitrant pupil, and Uhura threw her hands up in a particularly human gesture of exasperation.  
“Again with the denial! It’s always my wellbeing and my emotions. What about yours? You’ve got feelings to worry about too,” She pointed out. Spock allowed himself another weary sigh.  
“May I remind you that I am Vulcan, and as such my emotions are hardly consequential—”  
“Bullshit!”  
He broke off abruptly at the sharp expletive, and Uhura gripped his collar, pulling the commander into a slightly frustrated kiss. He did not respond, slightly confused by the apparently angry sentiment behind a normally affectionate gesture. She pushed him back, eyes snapping furiously.  
“You’re more than that, Spock, and this continuing denial proves that even if you don’t feel anything else, you damn well feel pride! Why? Why this compulsive need to be Vulcan? You’re just as much human as you are Vulcan,” she paused in her reprimand, an expression of pain crossing her face. She reached for his hand, touching her fore and index fingertips to Spock’s in a gentle Vulcan kiss.  
“Aren’t we enough for you?”  
The accusation, though implied, hung suspended in the heated air between them.  
Aren’t I enough for you?  
Spock unfolded his limbs smoothly, rising to his full height in one fluid motion. “I believe it would be to our mutual benefit for you to leave now, Lieutenant. You are becoming irrational, and my presence is required on the bridge.”  
Of all the cold dismissals he had delivered in his life, this one ranked near the top of the proverbial list. He had no intention of being cruel—his patience had worn thin and he simply no longer desired to be in her company.  
Nyota stood sharply, eyes flashing. Spock resisted the urge to take an alarmed step backwards. Uhura’s wrath was a beast best left sleeping.  
“You being my senior officer does not give you the right to dismiss me when you get uncomfortable with the conversation. Whether you like it or not, you’ll have to address these issues eventually,” she said cuttingly, and then her eyes softened sadly.  
“I really thought you trusted me enough to let me help you. I guess it was wishful thinking on my part.” She turned to leave, and Spock took a conciliatory step towards her.  
“Nyota...” His dark eyes were troubled, and she paused.  
“Please do not be angry. I meant no offense. It is logical that my struggle to reconcile the alien halves of myself would be difficult to understand from an outside perspective. You do not know of what you speak. I will hold no ill will towards your ignorance.”  
Fire leapt again in her eyes and she struck him with no hesitation across his high right cheekbone. His eyes widened marginally in surprise, and she stepped away again, fists clenched at her sides. He could see the battle with her emotions taking place inside her eyes, one he had waged many times. She raised her chin, resigned yet determined in her stature.  
“Commander Spock, I must request that you refrain from addressing me unless absolutely necessary until further notice. I hope we can maintain a professional working relationship until that time,” she said evenly, gaze fixed slightly to the left of Spock’s. He blinked in surprise at her abrupt change to the strictly logical. It sounded...exactly like something he would say.  
“Permission to resume duty on the Bridge, sir?” she requested stiffly, and he allowed it with a curt nod. She strode from the room, leaving him much less peaceful than he had been in quite a long time.


End file.
